


Tension

by jinkazama



Category: Tekken
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Play Fighting, Rival Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkazama/pseuds/jinkazama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin's tense and Hwoarang knows just how to relax him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt _Hwoarang gives Jin a hand/blow job to relax him after training_ on tekkenkinkmeme. I'd never published any HwoaJin before this, which is a shame and I fully intend to put up more at some point, as they're my second favourite slash ship in Tekken and responsible for getting me into Tekken fic in the first place! I was inspired by Hwoarang in Baek's TT2 ending while writing this.

They'd sparred for hours that morning, neither willing to back down or give up. Jin rarely said much during their sessions, but his dark eyes were intense as he followed Hwoarang's every movement. Hwoarang saw Jin's silence during their bouts only as a space to be filled, and taunted Jin even as he kicked and punched and dodged. Jin had said Hwoarang could probably beat him if he actually saved his breath for something useful, and Hwoarang had responded – _silently_ \- with a kick that made Jin see stars.

That was sparring. Outside the dojo, Jin had plenty of words he didn't mind sharing, and Hwoarang delighted in extracting them all from him.

Their session that morning had been unusually tense. Jin had hissed as Hwoarang's foot caught his side, a rush of breath laced with something that made Hwoarang pause, and then he turned quickly to avoid Jin's answering punch that flashed over his head.

"Fuck!"

Jin glowered and charged at him again.

Something was bothering him, Hwoarang realised. He'd always been good at reading people, even Baek said so, and though Jin rarely spoke about his feelings, about the nightmares he had, Hwoarang could tell when he was troubled.

He'd never bring it up, but he'd subtly change his habits; getting up five minutes later so Jin could finish his meditation in peace, giving Jin his space when he wanted to be alone, accompanying him when he didn't.

Jin seemed to realise what he was doing, though, and despite his attempts at subtlety – Hwoarang smiled as he thought of Baek chastising him, saying he was about as subtle as a car accident – Jin saw through them. He'd wake in the middle of the night, a strong arm holding him close, or with Jin's head on his chest, dark eyelashes tickling his chest as he lay awake, hoping to avoid whatever nightmares haunted him.

Not that Jin bothered with subtlety in other areas, of course. Hwoarang had lost count of the times he'd been in the shower after sparring, singing to himself as he washed, when Jin joined him. Sometimes Jin would press him back against the slick wall, holding Hwoarang in a firm grip as he raised a leg to curl around his waist. Sometimes Hwoarang would catch Jin as he tried to sneak in, and he'd pull him right in, making Jin flail as he tried not to slip on the tiles, and Hwoarang would smile as he brought his mouth down on Jin's and snaked his hand downwards.

They'd shared Hwoarang's bed since the first week, abandoning any delusions about what was going on, and for the most part it worked. Hwoarang was still abrasive and Jin would wince as he was a little _too_ loud before breakfast, or during training, or in general, and Hwoarang would mock Jin in turn for not talking, being a stubborn stick-in-the-mud, anything he could think of.

Some topics, though, were resolutely off limits. Family, for both of them. That was the big one. Hwoarang understood from the childlike syllables Jin gasped in his sleep that many of his nightmares were about his mother. Other times, as his face twisted and darkened in rage, his father. Or maybe his grandfather. Jin hated them both.

Hwoarang didn't know or care about any of them. He only knew Jin.

Now Jin paced the small bedroom, restless and anxious, despite the vast amounts of energy they'd expended that morning. He'd showered alone, and afterwards dressed simply in loose black cotton training pants and a t-shirt Hwoarang recognised as one of his. Though he was much more muscular and wider across the chest than Hwoarang, and the t-shirts that were once so tight looked like circus tents after he'd worn them, Hwoarang didn't really mind. He'd bury his nose in the worn fabric when he was sure he was alone and inhale Jin's scent, clean and masculine with hints of the sandalwood from the aftershave he liked.

Still, a sulky Jin was more than he felt like dealing with that day. There was only one thing for it.

Hwoarang got up from the chair he'd splayed in, stretched, and made as if he was about to go outside. Jin looked at him suspiciously for a second, but kept pacing. Hwoarang edged past him, tensed briefly and then he turned swiftly and sprang, knocking Jin backwards onto the bed.

Jin gasped as the breath was knocked out of him, and Hwoarang laughed with glee. The look on Jin's face was hilarious, surprise that gave way to outrage, and he loved annoying Jin almost more than anything.

Jin soon recovered himself and tried kicking Hwoarang off with his legs, strong and thick from years of training. Hwoarang moved quickly and repositioned himself, sitting heavily on Jin's hips to prevent Jin kicking him off. This left Jin's upper half freer and he struggled to sit up, but Hwoarang reacted fast and caught his wrists, pushing them down against the bed.

They often wrestled like this, usually for some inane reason that was just a precursor to other, more stimulating activities. Jin rarely instigated wrestling, but once prodded into it he was just as competitive as he was in the dojo, and they could wrestle for whole minutes before giving into their baser urges and just ripping each others’ clothes off. Hwoarang smiled as he felt Jin hard underneath him, and he rolled off Jin's hips so he could draw a knee up to nudge between Jin's thighs. Jin didn't take the opportunity to push Hwoarang off; though his face was stern, he was breathing hard with arousal, and he parted his legs eagerly to allow Hwoarang's knee to press teasingly against his erection.

"You ruined my t-shirt" Hwoarang said, releasing one of Jin's wrists as he reached into his training pants and freed Jin's erection from its confines. Jin lay underneath him, looking up at him with those deep, black eyes, not at all sorry for his transgression, and he pushed his hips upwards, silently urging Hwoarang on.

Hwoarang smiled. He'd been right about what would get Jin out of this mood.  
He curled his fingers around the tip and stroked the upper two inward, teasing. Jin shivered. He used the opportunity to sit up and press his lips to Hwoarang's.

Jin's hands were pulling his head closer, hands curling into his bright red hair as Hwoarang's wrist worked up and down. He kissed Hwoarang hungrily, pausing to tug at his lower lip with a nip that made Hwoarang tighten his fingers briefly in warning. Jin pulled away and looked at him thoughtfully, but he didn't ask Hwoarang to stop.

Jin was hard and unyielding against his hand, and Hwoarang moved his fingers in a smooth, steady fashion, ignoring Jin's increasingly greedy thrusts into his hand and the aggression in his kisses. Early on Hwoarang had suggested, only intending to mock, that this was where Jin's Mishima blood showed itself, and Jin had shoved him off and stormed out for two days. Lesson learned.

Finally Jin enclosed his own hand around Hwoarang's, tightening the grip that way. Hwoarang broke away to laugh at him. "Couldn’t wait, Kazama?"

He pried Jin's hand loose and readjusted his fingers, changing to a faster, more frantic rhythm, the way Jin liked it. Jin's eyes immediately slid shut, and he panted as Hwoarang's hand moved up and down.

Then he was coming, all over the t-shirt, his training pants and Hwoarang's clothes too, and he lay back looking up at Hwoarang, dark hair falling into his eyes, a different Jin from the one he’d tackled to the bed. He was more relaxed, calm; the black cloud had lifted.

" _Now_ it's ruined," he said, and Hwoarang knew he'd be different for a while at least. Jin was never truly free of his demons; the most he could do was to help him through the worst moods.

Hwoarang gestured down at his own, untouched erection, as he slid his own t-shirt off and stepped out of his dobok pants.

"You'd better make it up to me – and you'll have to buy me a new t-shirt."

"I plan to," Jin said, and as he shrugged off the ruined t-shirt and hurled it right at Hwoarang's head, there was no mistaking the playful look in his eyes.

Hwoarang dodged and scooped up the t-shirt just as Jin's training pants caught him on the side of the head. He took the two steps to dump the armful of clothes in the laundry basket, before leaping onto the bed to silence Jin's laughter the best way he knew how.


End file.
